failure boy
by paradoxiKay
Summary: He's burning inside and out, and the flames will not be satisfied until no blood, bone, or ash remains; that's how this dream is supposed to end. How it always ends. But this time, something washes over him, wraps around him - something wondrous, and powerful, and safe.


_you're on night shift tonight right_

 _That's right. Did something happen?_

Saruhiko stares up at the PDA he's holding at arm's length above his face, trying – failing – to come up with a response to what should have been a yes-or-no question. He supposes it still is, sort of. Nothing's _happened_ , not the way Yukimura means, but he kind of wishes something had. He can handle being hurt or sick, but _this_ …

He can't relax, can't sit still, can't fucking _deal_ with feeling so agitated when nothing should be riling him up. Every inch of him is screaming that something is wrong, that he's not safe that he's going to get hurt - a lifetime's worth of self-defense mechanisms all firing at once, even though there's nothing in the late-evening quiet of his room that could possibly pose any kind of threat; even though his desperate attempts at protecting himself never did shit even when there _was_ something, or someone, coming for him.

 _no_

 _just don't feel well_

It's not technically a lie. It's not the kind of feeling like shit that really calls for a visit to the infirmary either, but he doesn't have a whole lot of options right this second. And just about anything would be better than lying here in the dark, trying to think about anything but the irrational urge to claw off his own skin. Failing at that, too, because he's already tried, scratched the old scars below his collarbone raw and bleeding like emotions are something tangible he can rip out if he just digs deep enough.

That's irrational too. He's very much aware of that. Nothing he's feeling right now makes any sense at all, and he hates that more than _anything_ , that his mind would betray him by falling into patterns he knows damn well are wrong.

(He could always text Munakata. He probably should, even.

Except... he absolutely _can't_.

The only thing worse than this… _episode_ , whatever it is, would be wasting the captain's time with it when he has so many _important_ things to deal with.)

 _It's not busy tonight. You would be my first patient, actually._

 _Come over, and I'll see what I can do to get you feeling better!_

This isn't the kind of hurt a nurse can fix. But Yukimura is tolerable, in small amounts, and she keeps her mouth shut about things that aren't anyone else's business, and…

And Saruhiko is…

 _Scared,_ and that's the least rational thing of all.

Scared of these feelings. Of himself. Of the knives he can feel against his back as he lies here fully dressed, of the fire perpetually burning under his skin; of what he could do with those weapons, if he wanted to.

Of how much a part of him does want to, and of what it means that part of him doesn't want that at all.

 _be there in 5_

* * *

The infirmary is too bright, too clean, and the strange, sterile smell of it always sticks to Saruhiko's skin long after he's left. It's a last resort, and that's as true now as it always is when some busybody or another drags him down here after a fight. He lingers just inside, hip braced against the door so it can't slam shut and trap him here.

It's been fifteen seconds and the lights are already giving him a headache. At least his room had been dark and quiet.

"Ah, Fushimi-san!"

(Speaking of things giving him headaches.)

True to her word, Yukimura's the only person here, so at least there's that. But she's _way_ more energetic than anyone has any right to be at this hour, so cheerful and _bright_ in a way that seems to take up the entire room and leave no space for him. Or maybe it's more like she _matches_ the room, and he's the odd one out. Either way, it's a sense of not-belonging so strong he can feel it curling cold and heavy in his stomach.

"I'm sorry you aren't feeling well!" It's hard to hear himself think while Yukimura is talking, which is probably just as well. "Is it that cold that's been going around?"

"…I'm not sick." It sounds so ridiculous, said out loud like that. It is ridiculous. _He's_ ridiculous. "I just…"

It feels inevitable that, if left to his own devices, he'll do… something unpleasant. Something he can't bring himself to name, and definitely can't let himself resort to.

(He can't name it, but it describes itself in images, sensations, even as he tries to slam the doors shut on the memories he's desperate to keep locked away. Staring at his PDA like he could make Misaki call if he just _wanted_ it hard enough; a key in the door, but the wrong people on the other side; Totsuka tugging at his blanket; _Anna sensed something, are you okay?_ ; Kusanagi swearing under his breath; the drive to the hospital; _hey, don't sweat it!_ ; needles in his arms; a tube up his nose and into his stomach -

Fuck that.

He's _not_ going to remember that. And he's sure as _hell_ not going to relive it.)

"I don't want to be alone right now," he says, and he knows Yukimura can't possibly understand, but he's not asking her to.

"Fushimi-san…" Yukimura's frowning, but her voice is soft, sympathetic. Not judgmental, but she's a bit too much like the captain, sometimes, in the way she seems to _study_ people more than just look at them, and it's a struggle not to fidget as she gives him a once-over. He doesn't know what people see when they look at him like that, but it can't be anything good. Not unless they're seeing things that just aren't there.

Maybe she's looking for some kind of explanation. Sucks to be her, then, because Saruhiko doesn't have one.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Other than keep you company, I mean. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to."

It's not a question he's ever had to answer before. Not an offer anyone's ever made, because no one -

Because the only person who has ever offered help on _Saruhiko_ 's terms is the last person Saruhiko wants near him when he might actually need it. He knows better than anyone, after all, just how easy it can be to let go of a Clansman who's made himself more of a burden than an asset.

"...I don't know." What would help, if anything would help... he doesn't have a clue. The thought of turning his knives and aura against himself seems just a little more ridiculous than tempting, now, under the bright lights and Yukimura's scrutiny, so maybe that's good enough? After all, it doesn't really matter how he _feels_. As long as he doesn't do anything he'll hate himself for later. Or anything Munakata will hate him for. Or _would_ hate him for, if Munakata lacked that endless patience Saruhiko's never done anything to deserve -

"Would you like to lie down for a while, at least? You look _exhausted_."

How nice of her to point that out. He's tempted, though. There's no way in hell he'll actually be able to fall asleep, and it's not like he's going to be any less miserable lying down than sitting up, but if she thinks he's napping Yukimura won't keep pestering him with questions he doesn't have answers to. And he _is_ tired.

"Sure." He shrugs, and even that takes something from him he doesn't have left to give, his whole body stiff and heavy as lead. Yukimura beams at him like he's doing her a favor as he reluctantly steps out of the doorway, and she leads him to the bed furthest from the door.

"I – thanks." For humoring him, for not asking questions, for realizing before he did that he'd like her nearby but not _near_ – his mumbled acknowledgement isn't enough for any of those things, but if there's a plus side to Yukimura's habit of being unnervingly perceptive it's that he's safe to assume she gets the point anyway. He doesn't know what he would've done if someone less tolerable had been stuck babysitting the infirmary tonight. It probably doesn't bear thinking about.

He shrugs out of his coat, his vest, tugs off his boots; when he goes to unfasten the harnesses that hold his knives, though, his hands shake so badly that the familiar buckles slip right through his fingers. He's trembling all over and it's a horrible feeling, a weakness he wants to tear out by the roots and _destroy._ But he can't even make himself stop. It's all he can do to fumble with the straps until they pull free, a pile of leather-sheathed blades slowly forming on the chair beside the bed.

Yukimura brings him extra blankets, and he's too worn out to really argue when she insists on taking his blood pressure, his pulse, his temperature. "I told you I'm not sick," he grumbles in token protest, but he still holds back his bangs to let her swipe the thermometer across his forehead. She's just doing her job. At least she's quick about it.

"I'll be right here if you need anything," she tells him once she's finished, and the promise is too comforting for Saruhiko to be properly irritated about being spoken to like he's an upset child.

Trying to get comfortable in an unfamiliar bed _sounds_ only slightly less miserable than the alternative. But it's quieter here than in the dorms, and the sound of Yukimura typing as she gets back to her work makes for weirdly soothing background noise. He has just enough time to think there's no way he's going to fall asleep before he does exactly that.

* * *

 _Too many people. Too much noise and too many hands touching him - hands and_ needles _, and something revoltingly gritty-sweet they force into him when he won't drink it -_

 _The crowd scatters like mice before a cat and he hears heavy footsteps in the quiet they leave behind. Tethered to machines and stuck in bed, he can't flee along with everyone else. He can only wait, petrified, knowing he is the only prey in this monster's sights._

" _Fushimi," the monster drawls, but he can't respond, not when the room's been filled with that suffocating presence. The acrid smell of smoke burns his nose, curls into his lungs, steals his breath before he can scream. He's burning inside and out, and the flames will not be satisfied until no blood, bone, or ash remains -_

 _That's how this dream is supposed to end. How it always ends._

 _But this time, something washes over him, wraps around him. Something strong enough to push away the heat and terror... with all the softness and warmth of a familiar embrace._

 _Something wondrous, and powerful, and_ safe _._

Saruhiko nuzzles into the gentle touch of a hand against his cheek, but he does not wake, and his sleep turns deep and dreamless.

* * *

When Saruhiko wakes it's to the murmur of conversation just too quiet for him to make out, and for a second he lies motionless, eyes closed, straining to hear. If there's someone else here he's just going to have to pretend he's still asleep, because no way is he going to put up with being fussed over by a concerned coworker if he has any say in the matter –

Then he catches his name – and the voice saying it. It's not just any coworker. It's the captain, and the realization floods him with panic so intense he can taste it as bile high in his throat. He rolls over and mashes his face into the pillow, trying to breathe through the nausea, but with every inch of him suddenly on edge he can't help but notice the conversation come to a stop, and that just makes him feel worse.

Footsteps. The sound of a chair being set down beside the bed. He stays right where he is, not because he has a chance in hell of convincing Munakata he's still asleep, but because he thinks he might actually throw up if he moves. A hand on his shoulder –

\- and all the fight goes out of him at once as a familiar power rushes outward from that gentle touch.

He understands as well as anyone can the sheer power a King possesses. He knows that, if he wanted to, Munakata could use his power of "order" to forcibly calm Saruhiko down. But he doesn't, ever. Saruhiko always has a choice, and he can – has – shrug off the comfort and clarity Munakata offers him if he wants to wallow in his own misery.

It feels like cheating, to let Munakata calm him down. It feels like _losing_ , because he shouldn't need the help at all. But right now he's so damn _tired_ of being miserable that he just can't make himself cling to it as a matter of principle.

He takes a deep breath, holds it. Lets it out. Does that a few more times before he feels up to rolling back over. "I'm fine. You didn't need to come down here."

"No, I didn't. But I wanted to."

Munakata's not in uniform, and Saruhiko doesn't know whether to be relieved he didn't drag the captain away from work, or to feel bad for dragging him away from what little free time he has. Mostly he feels nauseous, his stomach still churning even now that he's gotten his thoughts in some sort of order. Sitting up really doesn't help.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he says stiffly, ducking his head in half-assed approximation of a bow. He doesn't know how to apologize to his boyfriend for stressing him out, but he knows how to apologize to his boss for being unproductive, and that's close enough, right?

"You are never an inconvenience." Munakata says that without any hesitation, and with a certainty that Saruhiko's never been able to argue against. It's not an opinion, not when he says it like that. It's a fact, something he _knows_ in that weird otherworldly way Kings can just _know_ things. It should probably be comforting, but if he's not an inconvenience Saruhiko doesn't know what the hell else he could be.

Yukimura's gone back to her work, and he appreciates that she's trying to give them some privacy, but he still feels exhausted and the sound of her typing is making it even harder to think. He stares down at his lap, acutely aware that he should be saying _something_ but not at all sure what it should be.

"…what did Yukimura tell you?"

"I am informed as a matter of course whenever one of my Clansmen is admitted to the infirmary." Saruhiko knows that – he gets those emails too, for the intel guys under him in Special Ops. He's really not in the mood for nitpicking over semantics… even if his version is being just a little unfair to Yukimura. "The incident report indicated that you were in some emotional distress – that you did not want to be alone – and that you accepted Yukimura-kun's offer to rest here, where you would have company."

It's as charitable a summary as he could have hoped for, and not at all inaccurate, but Saruhiko still internally recoils from _emotional distress_ ; he doesn't like how it sounds, how it makes _him_ sound, weak enough to be pushed to the breaking point by absolutely nothing that matters.

The thoughts that brought him to that point are still there, too. Not something he wants to bring up, but they're not about to just _go away_ , either. There's no way anyone would understand, not even Munakata, but… he won't judge Saruhiko for them, either. It feels impossible _not_ to be judged, but Munakata has already seen him at his lowest and done nothing but help him back to his feet.

If years of intentionally trying to get under his skin weren't enough to disgust him, this won't be, either. Probably.

"I couldn't stop thinking about something that happened when I was still in that other Clan." Now that he's started, he realizes he has no idea how to put any of this into words. How is he supposed to pin down and define the mix of misery and shame and, worst of all, _want_ that's been driving him crazy all night?

"Years ago, I tried to… except I _wasn't_ trying to, I knew it wouldn't kill me, I just…"

"You had needs that weren't being met, and lacked the words to express them." Munakata sounds so sure of himself, like he was _there_ , like he _knows_ exactly what was going through Saruhiko's mind before they ever even met. Well, he has to know about the hospital stay – Saruhiko knows Munakata's seen his medical records. The rest, though…

"Misaki wasn't a _need_."

"Wasn't he?"

What a stupid question. If he'd needed Misaki, it wouldn't have been so easy to stab him in the back, right? It wasn't like Misaki had been paying the rent on their shitty little apartment back then. Or even spending much time in it, which was how the whole mess had started, and he can still remember with piercing clarity sitting in the loft, desperately wanting Misaki to leave the bar and come pay attention to _him_ instead of the usual bunch of Mikoto's groupies – wanting it _so_ desperately he'd been willing to die for it, because only Misaki could have shaken him out of that kind of mood, _only Misaki_ –

And here, now, only Munakata – except he's never needed to go to extremes to get Munakata's attention. He rarely even has to _ask_.

"…it was still a stupid thing to do." It's not really a concession, but Munakata looks awfully pleased with himself anyway.

"It was, perhaps, not the most prudent decision. But it is in the past – and I am very proud of you for taking a different path tonight."

"Don't you think that's going a little far, captain?"

Munakata's smile goes a little sad, at that. Typical. Every time things are going right between them, Saruhiko always manages to mess _something_ up, and the last thing he wants right now is this awkward silence as he struggles to figure out what he did wrong this time and how not to repeat the mistake…

"May I sit with you?"

But somehow, whenever he starts to have those doubts, Munakata knows exactly how to snap him out of it. How to remind him that the struggle is _worth it_.

Never quite able to find the words, Saruhiko can only hope that his gratitude is another thing Munakata just _knows_.

He looks past Munakata to Yukimura's desk before scooting over to make room beside him on the bed. It's not like his relationship with Munakata is a secret or anything, but he's still uncomfortable with an audience. Yukimura's either thoroughly distracted or doing a good job at pretending, though… and, selfishly, he wants the closeness more than he minds the possibility of being seen.

Munakata settles himself next to Saruhiko, leaving a respectable space between them that Saruhiko immediately eliminates. He curls up against Munakata, head resting against his shoulder, and relishes the way he can _feel_ Munakata's fond laughter. He's not the only one who gets to hear that laugh, but that sensation is all his.

"If anything, saying that I am merely proud of you is an understatement."

Saruhiko's only half listening, now. _This_ is what he's really wanted all night, something Yukimura could never offer, and he would have saved everyone involved so much time if he'd just admitted that to begin with, but… he couldn't. Munakata is _his_ , their relationship solid and stable and _real,_ and still he can't just ask for things he knows Munakata would willingly give, scared off by the next to nonexistent chance he'll be turned down.

But when Munakata initiates – then, _now_ , he can accept what he can't ask for. He snuggles a little closer, soaking in the warmth of Munakata's body heat, the familiar, almost-tangible background hum of his Sanctum.

He feels more than hears the soft rumble of more laughter as Munakata runs a soothing hand down his back. It would be so easy to fall asleep just like this. He probably _shouldn't_ , but Munakata isn't talking anymore, just rubbing Saruhiko's back, and it feels so good, and he's so tired…

Fuck it, he thinks, blearily, as he lets sleep pull him back under.

It's not like he wasn't taking up space in the infirmary anyway.


End file.
